Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Point of Departure

photo: ralph murre

Point of Departure
by Christine Swanberg

When the last train trembles
              silent in its tracks
and the telephone’s ring becomes
              its whistle
or a lone gull’s cry
where you can be smaller
              than a hummingbird’s egg,
or where you can dance
              anonymous in purple socks.

Wear a cape with stars sewn on,
              a periwinkle ascot
and unbecoming bi-focals. In fact,
              unbecome altogether.
the brown and black jackets
              hung straight
these  working years. Unbecome
              your dreams of pencils,
black coffee, tests already passed.

Let loose
            the leather leash of approval.
Bark at anyone
             who insists you heel.
the hand that feeds you.

~ First published in WIND